This one's been quite often hailed as the 'Great Lost blah blah blah', but it certainly depends on what exact sense you include in the expression. Me, I suppose that to a certain extent it is great, not to mention lost (and found), but I can't help comparing these outtakes to the four studio regulars and the subsequent recordings of many of them on some of Lou Reed's solo albums, and a slightly noticeable 'eeh' escapes my lips. Now and then...
See, when these outtakes, most of them destined for the Underground's fifth regular album that never happened due to Lou's and the band's record company's obstinacy, were discovered by the record company in the early Eighties, the world was already hungry for more fresh Velvets' recordings, and the critics and the public fell upon them and extracted them and praised them with the highest praise. How could they do otherwise? By then, everybody with a more or less significant status in rock music had already proclaimed themselves descended directly - if not from Lou Reed's guitar, then from John Cale's viola. The album and its successor, Another View, were bound to be deified. But never worry - here I go to save the world and debunk the myth!
A clear example of how much this album is overrated is how all the critics who used to praise Lou Reed's solo albums suddenly turn their backs on him and say that all of these outtakes are superior to the later versions on Lou's solo albums. Dude, if that's how it really is, either I don't deserve to live or everybody else has got cotton wads in their ears. More probably, nobody has ever really compared the two groups of songs. To my notion, at least five of the ten songs on here have later been included by Lou on his solo projects: 'I Can't Stand It', 'Ocean', and 'Lisa Says' ended up on his debut album (Lou Reed), 'Andy's Chest', as everybody knows, got re-recorded for Transformer, and 'She's My Best Friend' turned out to be put on Coney Island Baby - six years after the 'rough mix' of VU. And, all right, so 'Ocean' kinda sucks: but it sucks on both versions, and at least the one on Lou Reed has enough 'static power' to make it seem impressive.
But 'I Can't Stand It'? It begins its life on VU as a catchy, solid, but very crude demo (and what's with that drum sound? I bet you anything it was re-recorded in the Eighties - it sounds electronically enhanced!), only to be tightened up and hardened up on Lou Reed to make a truly unforgettable experience. 'Lisa Says'? Great song, but who on earth would prefer the hoarse, out of tune screams 'Lisa sa-a-a-a-a-ys' on the VU version to the moody, gentle, so unbelievably charming 'Lisa says... oh noooo... Lisa says' of Lou Reed. (It's the 'oh no' part I miss so much, understand that). Same thing goes for 'Andy's Chest' and 'She's My Best Friend'. The overall problem with all these versions is understandable: They Are Not Moody. That's very important. On Lou's solo records, all of these songs took over an independent, breathing life of their own - small autonomous worlds in their own rights. Here, it's just a bunch of solid, guitar-driven demo versions with interesting, but not ideal melodies. I'll admit that 'She's My Best Friend' may be a bit more catchy and bouncy than on the slow, dreary version on Coney Island Baby, but it's also more generic (Mark Prindle said it reminded him of the Association, and I couldn't agree more).
But don't get me wrong. This is still quite a good little record. Quite simply, there ain't a single truly bad song here - and so, if you're afraid of the Velvets' weirdness, this will be the natural thing to buy after the self-titled record and Loaded. All of the above-mentioned songs, with the possible exception of 'Ocean' and 'She's My Best Friend', are still first-rate material, and that's not all.
Only two of the tracks here date to the Cale era, but it shows: 'Stephanie Says' is a gorgeous ballad that reminds me a little of 'Sunday Morning' because the melodies are similar (yet it's not a rip-off) and there's a glockenspiel part on both, but it's also highlighted by some moving, strangely inobtrusive violin playing by John, and it's a great highlight of the band's 'softest' side. And 'Temptation Inside Your Heart' has Lou and Sterling Morrison exchange some bizarre dialogue lines in between the lines of the song (which is a rather generic rocker by itself), such as 'Motown! You don't look like Martha and the Vandellas' and 'Lock the door this time', which roll on at great speed and great fun.
As for the Doug era, there's some more angry rock'n'roll (the never ending, but quite infuriating 'Foggy Notion'), some more routine, but pleasant pop ('One Of These Days'), and even a Moe Tucker-sung album conclusion - a great three-chord piano ballad called 'I'm Sticking With You' that she sings in the same childish, naive, charming little 'voicelet' of hers. In other words, the record's pretty diverse, and hardcore fans will definitely get a blast out of it. I do like it - get this, I do like it - but I do have the complaint I just voiced. The album's not finished, and that is a bad thing: turns out that the Velvets did depend on the arrangements and production after all, no matter how people like to emphasize the rawness and 'purity' of their sound. Get this record at all costs, but I wouldn't really advise you to do that until you've assimilated the first two Lou Reed solo albums - at least, that way you won't be accused of giving in to all the hype. (from George Starostin's Reviews)

Much like their pals the Dream Syndicate, Green on Red used up nearly all their psychedelic influences early on, and 1985's Gas Food Lodging found Dan Stuart and company veering into country-inflected roots rock that dovetailed nicely with the populist themes Stuart had begun to explore in his lyrics. Opening with "That's What Dreams," a tough but moving first-person tale of a working man struggling to hold on to his dignity, Gas Food Lodging takes a long look at the sometimes-fractured state of the American psyche during the Reagan years, as seen through the eyes of a low-budget rock band out on the road. Of course, Dan Stuart's America is populated by drunks, losers, drifters, and psychopaths, but there's a genuine measure of compassion in his portrayal of this collection of lost souls, and this lineup of the band -- with Chuck Prophet IV on guitar and Chris Cacavas on organ -- created evocative music that added depth and detail to Stuart's grubby vision. Gas Food Lodging set a template for the music Green on Red would make in the future, but they rarely hit their targets as squarely as they did here; there's an emotional weight and a ring of truth to this material that missing from much of the band's later work, and while closing with "We Shall Overcome" might seem like an especially obvious gesture, through sheer bloodshot sincerity this band makes it work -- and makes it genuinely moving. Gas Food Lodging is too loose and deliberately ramshackle to support the title of masterpiece, but calling it Green on Red's best album will do nicely.

Few new bands receive the kind of critical buzz that Lone Justice generated prior to the release of their first album in 1985, and one senses the band (not to mention producer Jimmy Iovine and Geffen Records) wanted to deliver something special to merit the hype. Which was not necessarily a good thing; Lone Justice is an album that tries so hard to be great that it sometimes ends up tripping over its own ambitions. The record leaves no doubt that the first edition of Lone Justice was a very good band; on the best cuts, Maria McKee's voice sounds like a force of nature, bassist Marvin Etzioni and bassist Don Heffington are a strong and imaginative rhythm section whether they were playing souped-up country shuffles or fifth-gear rock & roll, and if guitarist Ryan Hedgecock isn't quite a virtuoso, he's solid and inspired when he gets to step to the forefront. But guest keyboardist Benmont Tench and the other high-priced help (including Little Steven, Mike Campbell, and an uncredited Annie Lennox) often overwhelm the group's personality, and while McKee's songs celebrating the heart and soul of rural America are unquestionably sincere, they don't always ring true ("After the Flood" and "Pass It On" sound more like writing exercises than narratives centered around believable characters), and they also seem to inspire Iovine's most bombastic production decisions. Where Lone Justice succeeds is on straight-ahead rockers like "East of Eden" and "Working Late," the C&W weeper "Don't Toss Us Away," and the tough "love gone bad" number "Way to Be Wicked," all of which prove that this band really did have the goods. In the wake of the 1990s alt-country movement, in which dozens of bands mined similar musical territory with more satisfying results, Lone Justice sounds like an example of too many cooks spoiling the soup; there's enough good stuff to make it worth hearing, but its hard not to wish Lone Justice had gotten the sort of sympathetic but hands-off production that allowed Wilco and the Jayhawks to do their best work.

(by Mark Deming, All Music Guide)

The group's final album and its first for a major label was no way to end a career that started out so promising, but it did deliver in some areas. Vocalist/guitarist David Roback had left the band — as had drummer Eddie Kalwa, leaving out some core elements that had managed to gel together so well on previous outings. Ultimately, the murky, psychedelic waters of previous releases had become elusive. Upon the first listen, the major flaw that you hear is the increase in production that results in waves of synthesizer accents that do little to add to the flavor of the group. The track "Depending on You" is certainly blessed with some strong guitar leads, but is marred by the shiny blasts of synthetics. Rain Parade's greatness arose out of excellent songs and guitar work, but also out of an adherence to a timeless sound. Modern embellishments did not suit them well. "Don't Feel Bad" is perhaps the biggest victim of this. The song is great with drums spiraling backwards, guitars fluttering up and down, the bass backtracking while still sounding nimble and flexible as the harmonies float — but the stabs of synth and drum treatments turn the song into a relic of the time. The slower moments of the record work their charm. "My Secret Country" is a nice balance of acoustic guitars and harmonies but is ultimately muddied by an ending that creeps up too soon. It's "Fertile Crescent" that is probably the most perfectly realized song on the album, with its guitar jangle and a perfect harmony of build-up and release. "Only Business" also works well with its stripped-down and slightly broken approach that uses restraint in a way that could have suited a number of the other tracks on the album. It's an unfortunate ending (not unfortunately uncommon, either) that sees the group's final official release marred by a major label's input, distorting what should have been Rain Parade's greatest statement.

(by Jon Pruett, All Music Guide)

What does a band do when they're trying to follow-up a masterpiece? Release another masterpiece, of course. That's exactly what the Meat Puppets did with 1985's Up on the Sun. Issued one year after Meat Puppets II, the songwriting had become more focused, the performances were tighter, and Curt Kirkwood's vocals had progressed from a high-pitched warbling to a soothing monotone. Up on the Sun catches the Arizona trio in a relaxed mood, for the most part; the tunes aren't wound up as tightly as its predecessor, with the album-opening title track, the instrumental "Seal Whales," and "Hot Pink" being fine examples. Other highlights include "Maiden's Milk," which contains some great instrumental interplay between the bandmembers, as well as the upbeat "Away," the funky "Buckethead," the psychedelic "Two Rivers," and the furious "Enchanted Porkfist." As with the other 1999 Meat Puppets reissues on Rykodisc, rarities and demos are included as bonus tracks, including a haunting demo of the album's title track.

(by Greg Prato, All Music Guide)

In July 1996, Tom Engelshoven of Dutch music magazine Oor described Jeffrey Lee Pierce as the missing link between the Eagles and Kurt Cobain. Four months after the Gun Club frontman had passed away, the article labeled him as the true victim of what Engelshoven interpreted as "the American disease." Among the symptoms were a strong identification with violence and death and a clear notion of American society being imbued with it. Pierce's lyrics testified of his awareness of America's earliest history, a nation established at the barrel of a gun. Obsessed with an inevitable apocalyptic destiny, he took his lowlife background as an explanation for a feverish longing for decay. Sex, booze, and drugs all claimed their share in a self-destructive lifestyle, culminating in an early death at the age of 37. Wildweed was the first of two solo albums Pierce made in between his Gun Club albums. Following in the footsteps of remarkable statements like Miami and The Las Vegas Story, the material presented here isn't all that different. The violence theme practically drips from the album cover, depicting Pierce with a dreamy look and a shotgun slung over his shoulder. Standing amidst what could be the last true vestige of an unspoiled, rural America, it's a fair bet that he's ready to shoot anything even slightly disturbing -- upon which he probably will utter one final howl before putting himself "to rest" as well. Plenty of those howls are scattered through Wildweed, which opens with a strong threesome of "Love and Desperation," "Sex Killer," and "Cleopatra Dreams On." In more than one way, "Love and Desperation" is the twin to The Fire of Love's "Sex Beat." Apart from the infectious driving beat, one only has to compare the lyrics of the latter ("I, I know your reasons/And I, I know your goals/We can f*ck forever/But you will never get my soul") to the former ("Somebody hurts you, so you hurt me/So I hurt somebody else, who I have never seen/Who hurts somebody else, why on down the road/Who hurts somebody else who goes on home/With you") to conclude that Pierce's world is one in which love takes a wrong turn most of the time. Halfway through the album things get a little awkward when, during the nursery rhyme of "Hey Juana," Pierce starts name-checking a colleague ("Now Nick the Cave/He spent all his pay/On a bottle of gin/And a shark without a fin"). Luckily, "The Midnight Promise" makes a beautiful closing piece. Alas, the CD release of Wildweed adds some extra tracks that appeared on the Love and Desperation 12" instead of the more intriguing experiments with spoken word from the 7" bonus that came with the album or the free jazz of the title track of the Flamingo EP.

(by Quint Kik, All Music Guide)

The first of 4AD owner Ivo Watts-Russell's multi-artist studio sessions under the This Mortal Coil name, 1984's It'll End in Tears was a surprisingly influential album in many circles, key in the reawakening of interest in artists like Alex Chilton and the late Tim Buckley by a younger generation of listeners. (Two songs from Big Star's Third are included, a version of "Kangaroo" featuring Cindytalk vocalist Gordon Sharp that sounds even druggier and more disorienting than the original, and a chilling piano and strings version of "Holocaust" with haunted vocals by Howard Devoto; the simple but ravishing version of Buckley's "Song to the Siren" by Cocteau Twins Liz Fraser and Robin Guthrie was cited by David Lynch as the direct inspiration for Julee Cruise's first two albums and has since been used several times in commercials and films.) The covers are the most memorable part of the album -- a Robbie Grey-sung version of Colin Newman's "Not Me," cleverly incorporating a hypnotic riff from another Newman song, "B," is the most conventionally hooky song on the album, to the point that folks who haven't listened to the album for a while tend to forget that half of the songs are "band" originals. These six songs mark 4AD's definitive break from its origins as an artsy post-punk imprint (Bauhaus, Modern English's first few records, etc.) to the development of "the 4AD sound," a heavily reverbed wash of treated guitars and atmospheric keyboards with vocals treated as another instrument in an amorphous wash of sound. The problem is that these largely instrumental tracks sound more like half-baked studio doodles than fully formed songs; a three-song stretch on side two featuring Dead Can Dance's Lisa Gerrard is particularly tiresome. As a whole, It'll End in Tears is a lovely, often exquisite record; taken individually, the power of some of the songs is lost.

(by Stewart Mason, AMG)